


halves of one

by Eliza



Category: Boondock Saints (1999)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-08
Updated: 2006-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza/pseuds/Eliza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the LJ fic community <strong>fornicari</strong><br/>Prompt: Haven, Paulann Peterson<br/>Title courtesy of Rana and e.e. cummings.</p>
    </blockquote>





	halves of one

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ fic community **fornicari**  
> Prompt: Haven, Paulann Peterson  
> Title courtesy of Rana and e.e. cummings.

At first Connor thought it was exhaustion, the way he slept when they were on the road. Running. Hiding. Better than any time since they'd moved to America – deep and peaceful, like his soul rested as well. Then he awoke one morning to the sound of a barely whispered curse and Murphy turning over. And lingering heat where Murphy's arm had been wrapped around his chest.

He'd stayed still that morning, not even sure why he didn't want Murphy to know that he was awake, that he knew.... He wasn't even sure what he knew.

It didn't happen again. Or at least Connor never woke to the warm press of skin against his. He dreamed of it though, and the profound comfort it brought. The feeling of completeness and of strength. Of certainty. Of what always eluded him, staying just beyond his fingertips, but that was expected in a dream.

Then they found a motel that had twin beds. Paying for two doubles had always seemed a waste, but the two smaller beds didn't raise the price.

"A night without you elbowing me in the ribs, about fucking time," Murphy teased, but the look in his eyes was far from light. There was relief there and something almost sad. Connor understood.

The next morning, everything seemed louder, brighter, sharper. And the sadness lingered, bitter like the motel coffee. He watched Murphy add a third spoon of sugar and stir while scowling at the cup.

"What's the matter with you?" He didn't mean for it to come out so sharp. When Murphy's head came up with a snarl on his lips, Connor shook his head in apology and relief came when Murphy smiled.

"Thought I slept like a fucking stone, but maybe not."

Connor smiled back. They ordered breakfast.

They found themselves on the opposite sides of a double bed that evening. Hesitating. Now both of them knew. Connor took a deep breath and reached for the covers on his side. Murphy mirrored the motion. They both slid between the sheets and stretched on their own sides of the bed. On their backs. Motionless.

"This is fucking stupid," Connor decided. He looked over at Murphy's wide grin.

"You'd know," Murphy said, rolling onto his side. And as Connor shifted to face him, Murphy reached out and pulled him closer.

Connor knew where to go, where he would fit. His face pressed against Murphy's throat so he felt blood pulsing under his lips and Murphy's breath on his forehead. His fingers settled briefly on the smooth scar on Murphy's arm before gliding over his shoulder and settling between his shoulder blades. Thighs parted, feet tangled and skin shifted and slid until with one last breath they settled into each other. The only thing that seemed out of place was the layers of cotton their boxers placed between them. One step at a time. First, he would see what the dreams brought, now that he was hanging onto certainty with both hands.


End file.
